Burned Soul (EV)
by Kaline Bogard
Summary: Derek is a man who has lost everything, but he has the chance to be happy with Stiles.Aberline is a man who does not hesitate to take what he wants, even if it means destroying the happiness of others. Stiles is allowed to decide their fate. What will he
1. Chapter 1 of 13

**Title**: Burned Soul  
**Writer**: Kaline Bogard  
**Beta**: YouJustGotPitchSlapped  
**Fandom**: Teen Wolf  
**Ship**: Sterek  
**Classification**: K

* * *

Hi guys!

I want to say "thank you" to YouJustGotPitchSlapped, for helping me with this fanfic. Thanks for save me! :3

So, enjoy.

* * *

**Burned Soul**

**Kaline Bogard.**

"OW!"

Pain shot through the fingertips of Stiles' fingers as he blew them. The toast was on the floor. Counting slowly to ten, he picked up the toast and tossed it onto a plate, happy to have accomplished the small task without third degree burns.

Stiles placed the dish on the table and spread grape jam over one toast with a butter knife, and then spread the other with a generous layer of peanut butter. Those were his.

He was almost finished with his first slice of peanut butter covered toast when the sheriff entered the kitchen.

"Good morning, son."

"Mffm mmm." Stiles mumbled, his mouth full of bread so his answer was not understandable.

"Today is the day you visit San Francisco's Museum?" John asked.

"Mhm!"

"Be careful out there."

"Dad, don't worry." Stiles managed to swallow the toast. "The Museum is huge, and has loads of visitors and all my friends will be with me. It's not like some supernatural creature is gonna attack us..."

John sighed and poured himself some coffee before shaking his head.

"That's not what I meant. Stiles, the museum you will be going to is full of works of art that are priceless. Do not get close to the frames, sculptures or vases of ancient ceramic-"

The boy was indignant.

"-I won't break anything, dad! I'm not that clumsy. It's not like I'm Percy Jackson and- and all the important art pieces are in showcases of alarm guarded glass."

"Okay, son. Just be careful."

"I can do that," Stiles smiled, getting up from the table and clenching the unfinished toast between his teeth. He was late."Take care as well."

He barely heard his father's response. Walking out the kitchen door, he headed towards his jeep to find Derek Hale leaning against the blue vehicle.

"Hey Derek. Please don't be here just to tell me to be careful at the Museum, ok?" Stiles approached the wolf, his mood being uplifted just from the sight of Derek, and Derek could feel the happiness radiating off the boy. "I promise I'll keep at least 50 feet between me and the displays. Or even better, I won't go into the rooms."

Derek opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by peanut butter toast being shoved in his mouth.

"Anyway, good morning."

"Good morning to you too." The werewolf replied, biting into the toast. Derek removed it from his mouth and held it in his hand, then looked like he was going to lean in, until Stiles felt very uncomfortable. Derek knew why.

The two had been together, romantically speaking, for almost a week. Everything was very new for both of them and Stiles felt uncomfortable with PDA. He almost died of shame when they kissed in public. The word 'boyfriend' still made him blush.

"Enjoy your day." Stiles said as he slid into the car seat and slammed the door shut. "All of your werewolf buddies will be on the trip. Beacon Hill is all yours...but-"

Stilinski couldn't finish his sentence. With supernatural speed, Derek was at his side faster than you could click your fingers, holding Stiles' neck with his free hand to steal a peanut butter flavored kiss.

"Let's go out tonight." Hale suggested upon their separation. "After you return from your trip."

"A- A date?" the teenage stuttered.

"Yes. A date." The werewolf confirmed.

"Oh. Yeah. Okay." Stiles nodded breathlessly, having still not recovered from the unpredicted kiss and invite. "Our first romantic dinner under the moonlight, sour wolf." Stiles grinned.

"Eight?" Derek asked, ignoring the nick name.

"That's good. It'll give me time for the tour."

"Take care..."

"Don't worry about anything. There are three wolves and a banshee to protect me." He pointed out.

"Stiles, that's not what I meant." Despite the previous warning, Hale felt obliged to make sure his boyfriend understood. "There will be works of art worth millions there. If you break something-"

"I've already heard this speech! Where does everyone get the idea that I'm clumsy? More of this, and there will be no date tonight." Stiles threatened, twisting his keys into the car to start it.

Derek did not answer. He simply took a step back to make space for his boyfriend to maneuver himself out of the driveway after taking another bite of the toast in his hand. Stiles sped off out of sight.

Derek then nodded towards the kitchen window; where he knew his in-law, the sheriff Stilinski discreetly peeked through the gap in the curtains. The relationship between Derek and Stiles was unusual for everyone. No matter what angle you looked at it from, it was still weird.

...

Upon arriving at school, Stiles noticed the sophomores were out of the building, forming small groups near two yellow buses. The tradition had continued for generations: each year the sophomores did a tour of the Museum of San Francisco and spent the day analyzing various works of art.

Scott and Kira approached.

"Hey dude!" Scott greeted, standing beside his motorcycle. Stiles approached. Scott's backpack was hung around his shoulder as he greeted the newcomer.

"Hi Kira. Dude..." Stiles nodded hello.

I need you to cover for us." MacCall requested.

"What? Why?!"

The young Alpha smiled suspiciously, and exchanged an even more suspicious smile to the Japanese descendant. Now, Scott had the ability to control his inner wolf well, even in full moon, so he no longer feared what could happen if he stayed with the girl.

"We're not going to San Francisco Stiles. I want to take Kira out and spend the day with her..."

"But Scotty..." the human whined, "We've waited for this day since we got to high school!" Scott gave him a skeptical look. "Fine, okay, I've waited for this day." Stiles sighed. "Do what you gotta do, champ. Have fun bro."

"Thank you so much dude."

"No probs'." Stiles smiled as he watched his friend and new romantic interest exited the school, pushing the motorcycle in order to remain undetected. Apparently nobody bothered to look for them.

"At least I still have Isaac..." he mused, "oh, look. The same Isaac who is currently sitting in Allison's car...not stopping. Ugh, great. Another couple who will skip class. Absolutely perfect."

Finstock, the coach began to call out students by name, reading them out from the sheet attached to his clipboard. Gradually, teenagers began entering their designated buses. Finstock would be responsible for one bus, along with another teacher, and another duo would be responsible for the other vehicle.

"Stilinski, on Bus One. And do not go anywhere near the showcases, as you will be the one paying for anything you break." Finstock continued to call out other names.

Stiles didn't bother to reply. It would be waste of breath. He heard his name, but didn't enter the bus, since he knew which of his friends would be in which car. In the end, none of his friend were called out: Lydia, Danny, of the twins. He sighed and entered the bus. Stiles understood that everyone had planned couples day, avoiding the trip if their parents hadn't agreed with it.

As he hopped on board, he seriously considered sending a text to Derek to ask for his boyfriend to meet him at the Museum, but he soon changed his mind. The journey was long and tedious. It would be unfair to do that to Hale, as he probably already had plans for the day.

Since several students were absent, there were plenty of free seats. Stiles chose a seat near the back and threw his backpack on the closest seat, so he was sitting beside the window. He then grabbed his phone, looking forward to spending the next few hours entertaining himself with video games or updating social websites. He didn't bother with the battery, the charger could be plugged in at the Museum's indoor restaurant.

He had been previously looking forward to the ride, being anxious and exited, but now he was just bored. He would just have to walk along through the Museum. How annoying.

But on the bright side, there was the promised date with his boyfriend. Thinking about it made Stiles' heart beat speed up and his face turn a light shade of red. So, to distract himself on his journey he began to count how many seconds would pass until he went on his date.

Unfortunately for Stiles, he didn't know that fate had very different plans for him.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2 of 13

**Title**: Burned Soul  
**Writer**: Kaline Bogard  
**Beta**: YouJustGotPitchSlapped  
**Fandom**: Teen Wolf  
**Ship**: Sterek  
**Classification**: K

* * *

Note: I live in Brazil and have never visited the Museum of San Francisco.

I'm using both my imagination and Internet information to write this. And my Beta help, sure :3

* * *

**Burned Soul**

**Kaline Bogard.**

The place was splendid, to say the least. With so many things to see Stiles was amazed.

Soon after receiving rules and instructions from the trip teachers he was separated from his group when he thought it would be better to walk around alone.

It was almost as if it was karma. With ease he maneuvered through the various reinforced glass cases protecting the detailed ceramics from the world. But thinking about it, Stiles knew that with one swing of a sledgehammer he could smash through the glass, and probably the art as well. Then again, Stiles wouldn't be able to lift a sledgehammer.

Just in case he straightened his backpack. If he bumped into anything...well he didn't even want to think about the consequences.

He spent some time walking around, diverting the flow of tourists coming from all over, not just the state, county, country, but also oversea. Stiles recognized some languages used by the tourists.

A set of Chinese ceramics in particular caught his attention. The data on the showcase said it was made over a thousand years ago. The amazing feeling was undeniable: trying to imagine people living so long ago, shaping the clay in a certain way then setting it out in the sun to let it dry and turn hard, and then it would be sent to artists to paint the patterns. They probably would have used the coolest utensils ever, Stiles thought.

A thousand years ago.

He scrutinized each of the pieces of art and learned the history behind them. Even standing alone, he did not regret going to the Museum.

As there was much to be seen and little time to spare, Stiles followed the signs and headed for the Paintings sections. He desperately wanted to see at least a bit of every ward.

Stiles strolled trough the halls and admired the paintings without noticing any in particular. He wasn't exactly an expert on art. He would have taken some pictures, but unfortunately the rules of the place were clear. No photos, especially with phones. Plus he didn't want to get caught, which was a rather large possibility considering there were cameras screwed to every corner and guards standing at every doorway. He even tried a few times, slipping the phone out of his pocket and selecting the camera app whenever a guard looked away, but he gave up. He wasn't sneaky enough to not get caught and he really wanted to remain in the museum.

It was approaching lunchtime when we arrived at a corner of the exhibitions, that despite the large influx of visitors, was empty, save for one man who stood in front of a painting, admiring.

Stiles's curiosity was sparked. Glancing one side to the other he decided to see what had scared everyone away. He approached the lone man, who suddenly stepped away from him. Stiles thought nothing of it, then returned to staring at the painting.

"Makes sense..." Stiles muttered.

Hearing the mysterious phrase the stranger changed his mind and stood still, quiet. He turned to the teenager, frowning slightly.

"Excuse me?"

Stiles grinned at the man. He looked old enough to be his father, his straight hair perfectly coiffed, deep eyes and thin tight lips forming a harmonious whole that matched the warm face. Stilinski did not need to be an expert in the fashion world to know that every piece of clothing he was wearing must have cost at least $100 each, from the cut perfection and fabric quality.

"That," Stiles said, pointing to the painting, "Is awful. It scares me too."

The two returned their gaze to the painting. On the mantlepiece, was a small white card, which was inked with the words:

_Burned Soul  
__by  
__Lubich d'Fiore_

Stiles had never heard of the painter. The rationality of the work was almost palpable. The painter seemed familiar with emotions such as grief, fear, sorrow, and dismay.

"It doesn't scared me." The man spoke somewhat thoughtful. His voice was deep, almost husky.

"If it wasn't the painting... then it must of been me who scared you. Why else would run away? Really really fast might I add!" Stiles chuckled.

The other man looked at the boy standing next to him and nodded. The shadow of a smile framed his fine lips for the first time in that conversation.

"Excuse me lad. I don't wanna sound offensive or anything, but you are not exactly what I would call...scary."

"Don't let the lanky appearance fool you. I am very dangerous."

"Of course," the oldest man said, clearly amused now. Stiles could hear the sarcasm dripping off his words. "I was thinking about this painting. D'Fiore was very successful in his intent to cause revulsion and terror in those who admired the work. He makes us see that we have many dark elements in ourselves. Elements whose mere existence causes us to fear looking in the mirror and recognize. To see the dark elements targeting us."

Stiles ran a hand through his hair as he glanced back to review the exposed painting. He held his chin with his fingers, bringing a very analytical air around him. The posture amused the older man further. He wondered how the teenager would fare hitting a critical comment.

"I don't know..." Stilinski mumbled. "I think a work of art should be analyzed from several perspectives."

"What do you mean?" The adult struggled not to laugh at the evasive answer.

Stiles gestured with his hands trying to emphasize what he meant.

"You say that the work causes revulsion and I agree. But maybe his intention is not to make us realize that we have these elements, maybe something like-"

"Like...?"

The boy laughed sheepishly.

"Sounds like a cry for help." Stiles said somewhat bland. "As if the author does not know how to ask for help and painting was the way he could reach out and ask. Hoping someone could see behind the walls of being a rich painter and see the suffering he felt, as his soul was...well, burned."

The man's jaw dropped open. Astonishment was written on his face, but Stiles took it the wrong way, as he was worried that his speech was utter bullshit. "I don't, uh know anything about art. What I said doesn't make sense-"

"On the contrary," He butted in. The man stared at the painting, but in a new light. "It was brilliant."

"Brilliant? Really?" Stiles gawked.

"By the way, my name is Francis Aberline."

"You can call me Stiles."

"You are a very sensitive young boy, Mr. Stiles. You've made me see things from a different perspective that I've never even considered having before."

Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged nervously. He found ways to express the pain he carried, by interpreting things in different ways, his view on his life. If he spoke the raw, harsh truth, the hurt would feel real, but he found ways to express his "Burned Soul", and gradually, he managed to control his panic attacks, and feel safe. Safe with Derek.

"Have you strayed from the pack?"

The question snapped Stilinski out of his thoughts and made him furrow his eyebrows in utter shock and confusion.

"I don't get-"

"Teens," Aberline smiled slightly, "that I know always travel in groups."

"Oh, of course. Right, yeah you were talking about...my friends...yep." Stiles stuttered, blinking rapidly.

"What did you think I was talking about?" The man launched a thorough look at his conversational partner. It bothered Stiles.

"Is just me or do you have a slight British accent?" Stiles asked, dodging the question with a blatant change of subject, amusing Aberline.

"I have traveled a lot around the world, but I believe it is not enough to miss the accent of my home. Yes, I was born and raised in London, although England was never a permanent home for me."

"It's hard to tell. Only if you pay close attention can you hear the British," The boy brushed it off with a shrug.

"That means you are a very good observer, Mr. Stiles." He smirked.

Stilinski felt his face heat up. The man, possibly old enough to be his father was flirting with a high school kid.

"No... I-I actually I have Attention Deficit Diso-... I-I need to go now-"

"Wait. It's almost lunchtime. Maybe you wanna to extend our conversation about artworks a little more and give me the pleasure of your company." Aberline suggested.

Stiles shook his head quickly. Suddenly felt an urge to sprint away. Almost like an instinct that warned him of the cultured, educated, well dressed, and apparently harmless man's dangerousness.

"Er, well, I- need to uh, not sure if... You know, my friends are waiting for me. Bye." Stiles span on his heel quickly and walked out of the mostly empty room. Stiles didn't really understand the need to flee. What's so bad about a man taking a pass at him? It's not his fault and it's not like Derek would fight him.

Oh yeah, Stiles remembered. First, Francis is twice his age. Second, he has a boyfriend. Third, Aberline is a complete stranger, possibly a psychopathic killer for all he knows.

oOo

A smile ghosted Francis Aberline's lips as he observed the young boy scuttle away. It was obvious the boy had lied.

Ah, it had been so many years since he had last felt the emotion of amusement from a simple conversation. Aberline had almost forgotten what it felt like. And the surprising conversation with Stiles had sparked a feeling he had never experienced before, although deep inside, his subconscious knew very well what it was.

Now, he was snared into an unexpected, unescapable trap. His wolf would not allow it. Just like the boy would not allow him to escape.

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3 of 13

**Title**: Burned Soul  
**Writer**: Kaline Bogard  
**Beta**: YouJustGotPitchSlapped  
**Fandom**: Teen Wolf  
**Ship**: Sterek  
**Classification**: K

* * *

**Burned Soul**

**Kaline Bogard.**

Chapter 3

Stiles acknowledged some of the students in his class in the restaurant, but he avoided them all. He chose a table tucked away in a corner beside an outlet, that was -Thank God- available. The food was delicious, so he decided he wanted a second serving while he charged his phone. He shot a quick text to Scott and Derek, but he didn't get a reply from either of them. Not a surprise, but Stiles still felt a little sad.

After lunch, feeling incredibly heavy and slow, Stiles concluded that the tour was not as fun as he thought it would be. All he wanted was to sit for a while. But if he did, he would fall asleep quicker than you could say 'sleep'.

He then wandered through the museum and crossed the sculptures gallery. A particular sculpture that caught his eye was "The Medusa", which, after closer inspection left him feeling creeped out. The marble had so much emotion carved into it, that the eyes looked alive and aimed directly at Stiles. At least he felt it did. He had a strong sensation of being watched, yet no one appeared to be giving a damn about the teenager.

Maybe it was just the statue.

That was the only time that Stiles broke the rules. With his heart pounding he waited for the guard to be distracted by answering the questions of a woman, and the security camera to twist away. He whipped out his cell phone and captured a good image of gray marble.

He breathed in, relief washing over him, then he returned to his phone to the safety of his pocket.

Later he steered towards the painting gallery. The area seemed dedicated to works made in the Renaissance. They were beautiful works of art, but Stiles wanted to see more of the Enlightenment.

Bored, he went searching for the next area to study, but frowned when he realized he was pretty far away from his initial destination. The Museum of San Francisco was way too big! Stiles huffed, deciding to give up and sauntered over to the nearest gallery: The Ceramics.

There he met with Jared. The young teenager had joined a group tour and absorbed the guide's explanations like a thirsty man in the desert finding water.

Stiles didn't feel nerdy at all.

As it was nearly three o'clock and the return time was four, Stilinski decided to leave the Museum and get back to the bus for a quick rest. Exhausted, he was concerned he could no longer walk if he continued traveling through the Museum. However it would be great if he could continue through the museum. It would make him very happy.

The parking lot was packed, school buses with signs of various parts of the United States filled the once empty spaces.

It took some work to find where the coach driver parked the college of Beacon Hills vehicle.

"Holy God, it seems like paradise!" Exclaimed the boy, raising his arms to the sky happily. Drivers from outside stopped talking and laughed at the scene.

"You are the second to say that," a man said amusedly as he gestured toward the open door.

Stiles entered the bus and saw a girl fast asleep, resting her head against the window. He remembered her from either History or Economy class, but no name came to mind.

Stiles passed her and went straight to the back of the bus. He settled down with a sigh. His legs were heavy and his feet hurt. Hungry, he pulled out a chocolate bar from his backpack, ripped open the wrapper and began to eat.

After finishing his snack, he picked up his phone and glanced at the photo he had taken of "The Medusa." The picture was really great! He thought of posting it on Instagram, but changed his mind. He would do that in the safety of his home, where no harm could come to him. Would posting the photo violate any laws?

Stiles took the opportunity to send a text to Scott and Derek. For his boyfriend he typed out a few more, actually, though there was no immediate reply. What could Derek be doing that was so important that it prevented him from shooting a quick reply? Stiles understood Derek wasn't a fan of cell phones, but this would have to change.

Eventually, tiredness overcame him. He dropped his phone and leaned his head against the windows, and allowed sleep to engulf him.

The rumble of the engine starting shook Stiles awake from his power nap. He woke up a bit disoriented, and wiped the drool running down his chin with the back of his hand.

Somewhat surprised, he looked out the window. It seemed later than it should have been. Checking his suspicion on his phone his heart leapt. Three warning texts from Derek. Oops...

"Hey-", he leaned into the front seat and spoke to Eddie Abomowitz. "Shouldn't we be back by now?"

The other boy shrugged, clearly bored.

"Greenberg entered the wrong bus and delayed the trip."

"Oh, c'mon!" Stiles whined and sank into his seat. He would never reach Beacon Hills before eight o'clock. He was practically waving "goodbye romantic dinner with Derek." The was no chance they would reach Beacon Hills before 10!

With no way to speed up the journey, he shot texts to Scott, Allison, Lydia and Danny, so everyone would know what happened and would be in school at the right time, since they had lied at home and really needed to be there. The other option would be deep trouble.

Finally he sent a message to Derek, canceling the dinner. The answer came almost instantly. The werewolf has promised to wait for him at the school gate and accompany him home.

Stiles smiled at the response as it was very romantic... with a couple of typos. Derek hated phones. He only bought one because it was important that the Pack had a quick and convenient way to get in contact. It depends whether Hale decided to stay basic: a howl here and there. He reminded Stiles and Allison that humans might not always listen and more importantly, he might not respond to this type of call.

Good argument.

And that meant that Derek's little action was just that little bit cuter.

The sheriff's son straightened up in his seat and let his eyes observe the landscape outside. San Francisco was a fascinating city. No glow like New York City or cold as Philadelphia. No lights like LA either...

I shouldn't be comparing cities. Stiles berated himself.

San Francisco had its own character and charms, like any city in the United States. As Beacon Hills.

Stiles was happy and relieved go back home. He switched his phone on silent mode, pocketed it, then settled down to continue his interrupted nap. They were on there way back home... and hopefully nothing else would awaken him.

Scott parked his motorcycle beside Derek's car. He knew right away that the older werewolf had been informed by his boyfriend of the late arrival. McCall had ridden through the city to reach Beacon hills with Kira, and had arrived at nine o'clock. Better safe than sorry.

"Derek." Scott greeted with a nod, and received a nod back.

"You were not on the tour?" Derek raised an eyebrow, looking at the young Alpha then the japanese girl.

"Nope," Scott answered, popping the 'p' "I took Kira to the reserve." the couple seemed to have had an extremely satisfying day, Derek concluded, taking into account the suppressed smiles on both their lips.

"It was so much fun Scott. Thank you." Kira smiled wider.

Derek couldn't help but roll his eyes discreetly. New love... they didn't really fit the category. Stiles and Derek on the other hand, totally fit that category.

The next to arrive were Isaac and Allison. They looked very happy, if not more than Scott and Kira.

"Let me guess." the ex-Alpha mocked. "You guys also skipped the trip?"

"No." the Argent shrugged. "We just took a different trip."

"Something like that." Isaac agreed.

"The bus is late isn't it?" Kira sighed. "This always happens on trips."

"Half of Pack went and half of Pack stayed." Derek commented, leaning against his own car. "It wasn't always like this."

"Wrong." It was Isaac who volunteered to spill some news. "We met Lydia and Aiden at lunchtime. They kind of split this field class with us ... but soon they parted."

"I bet they'll be here soon... like Ethan and Danny." Allison remark.

"You all missed class?" Derek didn't know why he was even surprised. They were being typical teenagers.

"Not everyone." Scott smiled. "Stiles is representing us. We can always count on him."

Hale jutted out his lower lip slightly. If he had known everyone else was going to skip the trip for a romantic day he would have stolen his boyfriend and taken him on a very unique field trip!

"I cant wait to do it again!" Kira spoke dreamily.

Scott was about to reply when he heard his cell phone ringing. He pressed answer.

"Hi, mom".

"Scotty! My son, thank God... are you okay?"

The boy glanced around with confusion painted across his face. What sort of question was that?

"Yes, of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

There was a moment of hesitation across the line. McCall looked at the device to check if the connection had been cut. He put the phone back next to his ear.

"Mom?"

"I don't know whether to be relieved or leave you grounded. You skipped class didn't you?!"

"How did- How did you know that? Has something happened?"

Scott immediately knew there was bad news to come when he heard his mother take a deep, sharp breath.

"W-we received a call, about an accident on the highway...I- I was so scared honey, I'm so glad you're okay!"

At this point Derek, who could hear the conversation, unfolded his arms, and stepped towards Scott. His face began to pale, dreading the inevitable news.

The werewolves exchanged worried looks before the young Alpha spoke in barely a whisper. He knew he was only postponing what he knew he was about to hear.

"Mom... what kind of accident?"

"A school Bus accident, with your school bus..."

To be continued…

* * *

Trouble time ò.ó


	4. Chapter 4 of 13

**Title**: Burned Soul  
**Writer**: Kaline Bogard  
**Beta**: YouJustGotPitchSlapped  
**Fandom**: Teen Wolf  
**Ship**: Sterek  
**Classification**: K

* * *

**_Note_**: The character "Francis Aberline" does not belong to me. He is a character in the movie 'The Wolfman (2010)', the actor Hugo Weaving as Francis Aberline. It is a very cool movie about werewolves.

* * *

**Burned Soul**

**Kaline Bogard.**

* * *

_Previously..._

_At this point Derek, who could hear the conversation, unfolded his arms, and stepped towards Scott. His face began to pale, dreading the inevitable news._

_The werewolves exchanged worried looks before the young Alpha spoke in barely a whisper. He knew he was only postponing what he knew he was about to hear. _

_"Mom... what kind of accident?"_

_"A school Bus accident, with your school bus..."_

Chapter 4

Scott froze.

His jaw was hanging loosely, and his knuckles turned white as his grip tightened. He shouldn't have been so surprised, why else would his mom call him? But now it was out in the open, it hit him harder than a ton of bricks.

Stiles could be injured.

Or worse.

Scott was completely numb. He slowly closed him mouth as he began to regain feeling, and blinked away the tears that were threatening to spill. He asked his mother what had happened.

Derek, in the same state, felt anger bubble up inside him. It was all his fault, no? He should have gone with Stiles. I could have protected him. Derek shouted in his mind, clenching his jaw tightly and attempting to contact Stiles. No emails, no texts, no answers, no nothing. He retried, trying to hang on to the last thread of hope that remained, but once again, there was nothing. He felt any piece of optimism left, melt.

"No answer." He said grimly. He pocketed his phone and stared at the ground, as if it would turn back time and stop this from ever happening.

Scott pressed 'end', cutting the connection with his mother. "I know the approximate location of the accident." He turned to his new girl friend to speak, "Kira-" but was cut off.

"I'm going with you." She spoke in a rigid, confident tone, leaving no room for discussion. Scott nodded meekly.

"Isaac and Allison go to the hospital. Notify Lydia and the twins. Derek and I are going to the accident scene."

Everyone listened to the Alpha's orders, and separated to go to their designated location. McCall hopped on his motorcycle, with Kira's arms wrapped around him. Derek started his car and sped off with The Alpha and Kira.

Pure chaos.

That was what they found. The incident appeared to have taken place in the wilderness, along the highway, a border passage. One bus was intact, awaiting permission to return to school. Frightened students remained inside, but pressed their palms and noses against the windows.

But the other bus...

Scott pulled to a stop and climbed off his bike with Kira. They became entangled within the confusion of people. Ambulances and Police cars kept their sirens on, the flashes of red and blue disorienting Scott slightly. The heavy air was pungent with the smell of blood, smoke, fear, and doubt. And Pain. A lot of Pain.

Scott's heart skipped a beat, then it began thudding rapidly in his chest, like a builder slamming nails into pieces of wood with great force.

As for the bus.

Completely sliced in half.

Literally.

One half of the yellow vehicle remained standing, however poorly balanced. The other half was barely visible as it was surrounded by police officers and medics. It had collided with the ground, laying on it's side having been unable to resist the attack.

McCall stepped back, almost tripping. It was all too much. The stench made it almost unbreathable. He took another step back and bumped into Derek. It seemed he had weaved his way through the mass crowd.

Derek felt time stop. All he could focus on was that sudden unfamiliar smell, and the bus. Teacher's and Police officer's voices were blocked out. Everything unimportant was smudged, lost.

The two looked at each other.

"The bus was attacked by a werewolf?!" Scott sounded incredulous, but the claw marks on the bodywork were undeniable. Something very strong separated the heavy vehicle in two. And besides, something unusual hung in the air. A scent that made McCall eyes glow red before the boy made an effort to control himself. "That smell...Is it an Alpha?"

Derek shook his head no.

"No. Not an Alpha... but-"

"But...? Derek, my wolf. It's reacting to the smell, the claws, to everything. He's getting aggressive!"

"I know, Scott. Mine too."

"So if it is not an Alpha, what is it?"

Derek gritted his teeth, and for a moment seemed like he was not going to answer Scott's question. Just before McCall was going to initiate an argument, Hale inhaled and shut his eyes.

"Worse. So much worse than an Alpha."

"What are you talking about?" Scott asked, searching his mind for all the possible werewolves that could have done this.

"A Digamma-"

"A what?" Scott sounded confused. "A digamma? What's that? A type of werewolf? So there are not only Alphas, Betas, and Omegas?" He fired questioned after question, wanting an answer to all of them.

Derek faced Scott and stared him straight in the eye before answering.

"Digamma...Digamma is an obsolete word in the Greek dictionary. We use it to refer to a kind of werewolf that should not exist anymore."

"And that smell? It is a Digamma? Are you sure?"

"First, we need to find Stiles, he could be hurt. After I'll explain it better."

Scott agreed with the statement. Finding Stiles was the priority. He shot a message to Allison, who said she had arrived at the hospital.

Returning to the confusion, the Alpha saw a police car and sheriff Stilinski talking on the communicator. They quickly marched up to him wanting to know the whereabouts of his son. The man ended the call and looked sadly at the two werewolves.

"Two dead. Several injured. B- but Stiles-". John tried to maintain his calm facade. "My son is not here."

"What do you mean?" Scott looked John to Derek, wondering how on earth Stiles could be missing. But by John's expression, he knew it was the truth.

"This was all I found." Sheriff gestured to the backpack that both Derek and McCall recognized as Stiles'. "Whatever attacked the bus took my son."

The man made an effort to control himself, but failed. He let it out. His desperation reached Derek's and Scott's wolves in a suffocating wave. Hale echoed these sentiments in greater proportion. He was just as worried and scared.

"Scotty-" the voice of a beleaguered father brought the boys back to reality. Scott filled his lungs with air and readjusted his strong expression, taking care to fix his voice into an unwavering response. He put stress on Stiles name, hoping John would understand how motivated he was.

"We will find him. Do not worry, sir. We will bring Stiles back."

Sometimes Scott wondered if Stiles had a sign on his forehead saying "Please attack me," In big bold letters, because he always seemed to be in the sights of any supernatural trouble that was nearby.

Anyway,

What would a supposedly extinct werewolf want with Stiles Stilinski?

Consciousness returned slowly. Unlike the pain that came quickly to him all at once, without any remorse.

Stiles willed himself to open his eyes, and attempted to sit up. Instead, he felt a sharp pain in his right side. Carefully, he felt for a wound and realized that his clothes had been shredded, and his skin was abraded, partly covered in a thin layer of dirt. It seemed he had been dragged across the ground to wherever he was.

He pulled his fingers away from the stinging wound, and noticed dark red on the tips.

He groaned and cursed silently.

His brown eyes locked onto the high ceiling. A skylight illuminated the room, allowing Stiles a little vision. The moon wasn't visible. That meant it was well into the night.

He twisted his head slightly and looked at where he was. It was a small room, devoid of any furniture, only high walls. The concrete floor was dirty and littered with dry land and foliage. Besides the skylight, there was no other windows. Not even a small one.

Stiles took a deep breath.

Even in the dim light it was possible to see the marks on the wall. Many, in all directions. Powerful and fierce claws were used against the structure.

His heart raced and he tried to remain calm, but sunk to the ground of the unknown place. He returned to his last memory. Stiles remembered very well that he was on the school bus while returning from a visit to the Museum of San Francisco. Then he had totally dozed off. Yep, he had fallen asleep while on the journey back, and was not the only one. Several classmates slept, tired and vanquished by the long tour of the museum, and also the journey there.

And then...

At some point of the journey he had been torn from his deep sleep. Loud cries, the smell of blood and the bus veering off the road! Sparks were created by metal against asphalt.

Confusion everywhere.

Anything after that was gone, or indistinguishable. Stiles probably lost his senses. It would be impossible to guess the events after the bus incident and before waking up in an empty room accurately.

Aware of the bruise on his body, he moved carefully and slowly. It took several minutes and a cold sweat from the effort, but Stiles managed to get to a corner of the room. In the new position he had better view of the room.

He regretted it for a brief second to have achieved the feat,

As the blood froze in his veins.

The first thing he noticed was the high port, strategically placed to his right and the only way to access the room. The second noticeable thing was the creature visible through the open door. In a steady, awake stance.

A werewolf.

In its complete form. A big, gruff figure, probably unable to pass through the opening, meaning it had to remain outside because of its sheer size. Stiles analyzed the beast, noting it's fang size and claw strength. It could probably tear down walls effortless, let alone buses, if it really wanted to. Stile's heart skipped a beat. Even Peter, he remembered, in Alpha form was not as muscular and frightful. It was a unique monstrosity.

In addition, the creature kept his eyes fixed on the human, watching every movement with golden eyes, not red. Beta eyes...

That beast was a Beta? How was it possible?!

"Oh My Go-"

Stiles tried to drag himself a little further away, by pure instinct. The wolf gave a low growl, in a guttural and aggressive way. The boy froze in the act. He concluded it was much safer to stay still and silent. This fact didn't prevent Stiles' heart from beating in his chest so hard he pondered whether or not it would burst out his chest, or help him avoid the dryness in his mouth.

It did not take a genius to realize he had gotten into big trouble. Indeed, he was neck deep in an unexpected situation. He needed to get out of there. Soon.

Should he trust Scott and his pack to come and save him?

Should he wait for Derek?

Stiles inhaled again and rested his head against the wall. Why him? Why was he always the one who got into trouble and ended up doing something wrong? It was not fair.

'Help,' repeatedly echoed in his head, swirling around and constantly reminding Stiles that he was alone, (not completely) and trapped in a room guarded by a beast that was bigger than an Alpha, but had the eyes of a Beta.

To be continued...


	5. Chapter 5 of 13

**Title**: Burned Soul  
**Writer**: Kaline Bogard  
**Beta**: YouJustGotPitchSlapped  
**Fandom**: Teen Wolf  
**Ship**: Sterek  
**Classification**: K

* * *

**Burned Soul**

**Kaline Bogard.**

* * *

Chapter 5

"Kira-" the young Alpha approached the Japanese girl, but Kira managed to anticipate when, and what he would ask her.

"Go, Scott. I can get a ride. You cannot lose that track."

"I'll take her home." The sheriff offered without hesitation. "We can take care of the wounded until then."

"Be careful." Scott recommended before waving to the other werewolf, calling him.

Scott and Derek moved away from the chaos, so they could shift unseen. When they finally found a safe distance they assumed their complete form, using their supernatural smell to follow the scent of the other werewolf.

The trail traveled through the woods that lined the highway and made boundaries with the beginning of the Beacon Hills Forest Reserve.

At one point Derek felt something else in the air. He gestured to his companion. Two pairs of sharp eyes sought the tall grass that covered the floor. Scott who was located a little ahead noticed the currency that marked the change of soil where the grass ended and gave way to gravel of various sizes. There was a different sign, as if something had fallen and been dragged for a few meters.

"Blood," Derek knelt down for a closer look. It was not needed because the familiar smell was obvious. "He hurt Stiles!"

Scott gulped. Hale's anger infected him. He struggled to stay calm, because losing his head was the last thing he needed right now.

"Come on, Derek." McCall required in a somewhat rude tone. "The trail is becoming weaker."

The elder nodded, standing up and controlling himself with some difficulty. Damn that creature!

They went together to the edge of a river that cut the path. The Digamma's trail ended in the clear waters. No doubt he had come here to throw a tail off in case someone decided to follow him.

McCall glanced at Derek. Silently, he understood that they needed to be separated to cover the largest possible area of the river banks and try and rediscover the lost track.

The older werewolf followed downstream, while Scott took the direction of the rising waters. Every second mattered toward finding Scott.

Despite all of their efforts the day began to dawn, and they could not recover the lost trail. The Digamma was gone. And Stiles was gone too.

The two werewolves regrouped in the same spot where they had parted. They were exhausted, depleted by depositing so much energy in to a fruitless search. And there were not even a little closer to finding their kidnapped friend.

Anger, worry and fear accumulated in Derek, to the point of bothering Scott. Hale acted so pessimistically!

"Try calling him again." Scott suggested, as they walked back to where the attack happened.

"No. Definitely not. Maybe the Digamma has not discovered that Stiles has his phone. If I call..." He left the phrase in the air.

"By calling him, he will know he still has his phone. Stiles is smart and will use his first opportunity to get in touch."

Derek nodded. Secretly he hoped that that his first attempt to call would not ruin everything. Hale had been desperate to learn of the accident and the reason, in the space of one hour. You couldn't blame him for that. He needed to know.

Together they reached the place where it all happened. There were no more students, teachers, first responders or police. Only three or four employees wandering around squeaking about what remained of the bus.

The car and motorcycle Derek and Scott left remained safe, but a little more distant. And Allison's car was parked next to them. The Argent, leaning against the bodywork along with Isaac, showed concern on her beautiful face. It was expected they would begin their questioning as soon as they arrived at their vehicles.

"And- What is happening? Stiles was the only one who did not show up! And he wasn't admitted to hospital! When we got here Isaac said he felt a strange smell, but now it's disappeared."

Scott sighed.

"Derek thinks it's the smell of a Digamma. We lost his trail in the creek. But it seems that this creature took Stiles."

"Why?" Allison sounded horrified.

"We don't know." Derek clenched his hands, so angry that his fists began to shake.

"What is a Digamma? I would say that the smell is like a werewolf. But...- wait aren't there just Alpha, Betas and Omegas?"

"I'll explain everything later, Isaac. We better go to my house, unless someone wants to rest." Derek suggested somewhat gruff.

The mention of a rest was promptly refused by the teens.

"We have no time to lose." Allison walked back to the car, like Isaac.

"I'll speak with Stiles' father." Scott climbed on to the bike, but before putting on his helmet he took out his phone intending to call the sheriff and inform him of the failure of their searches.

"Don't do it." Hale told the young Alpha. "I'll talk to him personally. Go straight to my house. I will meet with you there."

McCall nodded. Frustration was the dominant common factor between all four. And you didn't have to be a werewolf to know that.

oOo

Stiles had the worst night he had ever had in his young life, that he could remember. Okay, maybe not worse than the nights he spent in the hospital, along with his mother who languished every day without the doctors able to do something about it. Unable to save her. Those were the worst nights he had ever had, thank you very much.

But this would definitely go into the Top 03 bad moments of Stiles Stilinski, totally.

He avoided moving as much as possible; because the wolf followed each of his gestures with predatory attention. The golden eyes twinkled. There was so much interest in those shining wild iris' that made Stiles feel like a little mouse trembling in front of a lion.

Stiles could not understand why he had been brought up here. Or how. The wound on his body suggested that the werewolf had dragged him for at least part of the route. That and the frayed clothing. But not for long, considering, if he had been pulled across the floor longer the injury would be deeper and he would have most certainly been awoken from unconsciousness because of pain.

He gave up trying to understand. Some things just don't ever make sense.

The hours dragged slowly, in such a way that Stiles questioned if he was parallel reality. His body was numb and he felt cold, partly thanks to the cold sweat that trickled down his temples and down his back, and partly because of the temperature in the morning.

Despite the difficult situation, his cunning mind was trying to draw up plans to help him escape. He had felt the phone in the front pocket of his pants, but did not dare try to use it. He feared the reaction of the werewolf. Even if the monster did nothing until then, only watching him, he was not taking any chances.

He decided to grab his opportunity when it came.

It took place at dawn. The clarity has decreased considerably, it was always darkest before dawn. Then the shade changed as the sun rose, and its rays mercilessly tore through the clouds, making way for the new day.

Stiles saw the wolf move. It was time for him to return to his human form. The boy was familiar with Scott, Derek and others making the transition as easily as a dancer switching from a jump to a twirl.

Nothing in the world would prepare the boy for the scene that he saw.

The werewolf threw his head back and gave a show, one that a werewolf would give to it's prey. A growl tore through his throat and echoed loudly, bringing direct outputs of agony from hell.

Stiles' whole damn body shuddered at the sound that was pure pain and ferocity. His eyes widened while he watched the animal's body writhe and crack, as if his bones were being broken and reformed in a new constitution.

The pain and suffering of the creature was so deep and uncontrollable that the werewolf was allowed to fall to the ground, howling and turning on itself, unable to keep it's focus on it's prisoner.

It was the chance that Stiles needed, so he clung to a his chance like a castaway adrift spotting a piece of wood. Stilinski moved quickly, pulling his cell phone from his pants pocket. His injury hurt so much, that he bordered on unconsciousness briefly. He fought bravely, because he would be totally screwed if he lost consciousness.

Cold sweat trickled down his face, and he had never been so happy before, gripping the phone which Derek was on speed dial. What made him happier was that he had changed after the device pool bath thanks to Kanima. His new model was more practical than the previous.

He ignored Derek's missed call.

Instead of calling Derek, Stiles just clicked on the message icon. He used his thumbs, which trembled in a mixture of fear and pain, to enter a universally recognized message and sent. Seconds seemed like hours, as he sent the soundtrack of the werewolf's howls responsible for his abduction.

With relief - that nobody could put to scale - he shoved the phone in his pocket and took a deep breath, trying to control the beating of his heart. He turned his brown eyes toward the wolf, just in time to see the black felt disappearing and the body that shrinking and recovering finally into human form.

Stiles recognized the man who kidnapped him immediately. Shocked couldn't even begin to describe the surprise he was feeling.

Francis Aberline.

To be continued...


	6. Chapter 6 of 13

**Title**: Burned Soul  
**Writer**: Kaline Bogard  
**Beta**: YouJustGotPitchSlapped  
**Fandom**: Teen Wolf  
**Ship**: Sterek  
**Classification**: K

* * *

**Burned Soul**

**Kaline Bogard.**

* * *

Chapter 6

"A Digamma-" Peter mocked. "A real Digamma? Alive?"

Scott squinted, resisting the temptation to jump on the man and shake him by the neck until the incredulous smile was torn from his face.

"That's what Derek said."

Peter and Hale glanced at Isaac, Allison and Scott who were standing in the middle of the room in the Mansion that was in the process of renovation. The working was almost at the end. In a few weeks, everything would be furnish able and habitable once more. Fortunately the contractor did not work on weekends, so they had enough privacy to discuss the subject.

It took a little more than half an hour for the teenagers to basically invaded the house and awaken the elder Hale at almost dawn, while talking nonsense about Stiles being kidnapped by a Digamma.

Peter did not know what was more insane: a Digamma still alive or someone who really wanted to kidnap Stiles. Secretly he wished good luck to the unfortunate person who had come up with the ill-fated idea.

Anyway...

"And where is my brainless nephew?"

"He was with the sheriff so he could update him with the news" Allison answered.

"Oh, yes".

"So can you finally explain what the fuck a Digamma is?" Scott demanded, angry.

Peter folded his hands behind his back and walked across the room to stand in front of one of the large glass windows which had just been fixed into place. The area around them still smelled fresh.

His thoughtful approach contained the curiosity of youth, who did nothing but wait for the information to come to him.

"The milestone," the ex-Alpha was saying, "Is officially the Industrial Revolution. But... you know... lycanthropy is not the most exact of sciences. It may be a little earlier, a little after-"

"What?" The question came from Scott.

"The point of reference. We were born or bitten after the Industrial Revolution. We are called the 'New Generation', And we split into Alphas, Betas, and Omegas. But of course, you already know this." Peter sighed, clearly bored.

Allison touched his sore neck and also began to walk around the room, digesting the information. He did not have to have an above average IQ to complete Peter's thoughts.

"And those born or bitten before the Revolution are the 'Primitive Generation'?" She asks.

"'Old Generation', you mean. 'Primitive',sounds offensive, don't you think; it sounds like child." He corrected with amusement in his voice, but then he became serious. "Yes, the werewolves before this generation are called as such. But they do not fall into three categories. They are all called Digamma."

"The Industrial Revolution?" The Isaac's voice betrayed his disbelief. "This guy has lived for what? Two hundred years?!"

"Nearly." Peter replied.

"Werewolves can actually live that long?!" Scott felt a little upset about the possibility.

"Not that I know of." Hale returned to explanations. "So far, all Digamma are extinct. You see, human aging is seen in lycanthropy as a disease, so our healing factor fights him. And the result is that werewolves age slower. But still, we grow old and die eventually. We are not immortal."

"But how can there be such an old werewolf still alive then?" Allison tried to understand what she had just heard. She found it difficult.

Peter turned his back to the window and stared at his young friends. They knew so little, that he found their innocence to be touching. Ignorance was like a veil that clouded their sight and prevented them from seeing the truth. The man who loved being half-opened would enter their small veil and allow them a brief glimpse of the real world hidden from most humans.

"You know why a pack is so important?" Peter asked.

"The numbers." the answer came from the young Alpha. "Because we are stronger when we have other werewolves with us."

"Exactly, Scott" Hale shook his head in appreciation. "Wolves go in packs. Humans live in society, so there is obviously strength in numbers and protection. But we are neither men nor wolves. We are a new kind of parity by nature. We grasp the power of nature. And when a Digamma is born or bitten, he has exactly that: virginity, pure nature to give him power. A Digamma alone has the strength of an entire pack. He does not need numbers."

Hale ended his long speech with his arms opened, in a significant gesture. Scott, Isaac and Allison had listened to him with interest and curiosity the passionate explanation. They dared not break the moment, that was tinged with a certain dramatic tone.

"But then it ended. The nature lost space to progress. We lost our strength. There was almost no nature to give us power. So then we needed other werewolves. We need ed numbers, unlike the Old Generation. Being a Digamma is like having an alpha, a beta and an Omega merged into a single creature."

"Why would such a monster want something with someone like Stiles?" Allison questioned quietly.

"I doubt it's anything interesting. I heard a lot about Digammas on my trip to Europe. Here in the United States it is a dull and almost forgotten tale. I just don't understand why it would be here...fate is something cynical, I'd say. It will always surprise us."

"What do you mean?" Scott frowned showing his confusion.

"I mean there are endless possibilities: this Digamma, even if he may have smelled the Pack all over Stiles and felt threatened. My nephew could be a decoy. Why not? Although my bet is not this option-" he smirked, "Two hundred years is a lot of time, don't you think? This werewolf may have felt lonely... or crazy or maybe he wanted an afternoon snack with an acquired taste. There is practicallyno chance of Stiles longer alive."

The boys felt anger begin to boil within them. They all knew that Peter just wanted to be annoying. And he was getting what he wanted. If only he could be burned at the stake...

Before anyone could criticize the insensitive theory the main door opened and Derek burst through, half breathless and with an expression that demanded urgency in their actions.

"He's alive," Derek said before displaying his phone "And he sent me a text."

oOo

Stiles stared at the man before him, gasping in disbelief that someone so seemingly cultured and discreet could be a werewolf. He almost kicked himself by thought though, after all, Scott and Isaac do not exactly seem like supernatural creatures at first glance.

Stiles quickly tried to calculate his chances of evading the man that was half lying on the floor. Maybe it was his one chance to escape!

Almost as if he was telepathic, Aberline stood up, not bothered by the fact he was stark naked. He turned his neck to the side, causing a quiet 'pop'. He stretched his broad shoulders and seemed perfectly restored to human form in seconds.

Stiles decided it was his supernatural powers and gave up any act of rebellion. For now.

"Sorry about that, dear." the adult ran his hand through his scruffy hair, trying to restore the appearance of maturity he had when they were at the Museum.

"It's uh... it's okay" Stiles responded humorously. "Just let me go home and we can totally pretend this never happened."

Aberline nodded.

"I would if I could. However, my wolf would never allow it." His voice was neutral, but determined.

The boy despaired.

"How is that so? You can't just kidnap someone, it's against the law! My father must be desperately looking for me, my friends and my boy-... I mean… my friends! Let me go and I swear I won't tell anyone" Stiles tried to straighten his back against the wall, but the gesture only made him groan in pain, an act that increased his distress.

Francis Aberline did not answer. He paced the room, not even giving any recognition of the fact he was nude, leaving the youngest person in the room terribly embarrassed. He reached down and grabbed the boy by his arm, bringing Stilinski to his feet.

Stiles almost screamed in pain. His vision blurred and darkened and Francis had to support him so that he would not collapse. Besides his bruised body, he had been sitting too long in the same position.

"Let's take care of that wound, young man. It was not in my plans to hurt you. But controlling my wolf is not always an easy task."

Stiles had no breath or willingness to respond. He allowed the man to guide his faltering steps out of the room. They continued through a long corridor that ended with a flight of stairs of roughly ten steps.

That made the teen understand why the walls of the room were as high they were. The site had obviously been adapted to cage the gruesome creature that Aberline morphed into during full moons.

The stairs opened into a large living room, also devoid of furniture. They approached the door at the opposite end of the room. This time the area was very white and clean, the walls lined with cabinets, plus a table with four chairs surrounding it.

"As you can see this is one of the most important places in the house, after my return to human form." As he spoke he shifted over to a clothes rack and picked up a sort of dark, simple and lightweight robe, but extremely tasteful, which veiled the naked body.

Stiles said nothing. He still felt a little pain. He simply watched the werewolf as he open a cabinet and retrieved some antiseptic and bandages to treat his injury.

"This seems pretty bad." Aberline analyzed the wound carefully. "Do you allow me to fix it? I must alert you of the pointlessness of any escape attempt. I would not like to be aggressive with you."

"Any more?!" Stiles mocked, presenting his captor with a grimace.

"My plans are to go," Francis ignored the provocation. "Treating you or not treating you. Which do you prefer?"

The boy gulped. He needed to gain some time.

"Okay," slowly he removed what was left of his shirt and lifted it, exposing a very pale complexion, but covered with remnants of dried blood. "Holy Shit, something tells me it will hurt a bit. Does...okay-...okay... just do your magic."

Aberline smiled and advanced with a bottle of boric acid. The solution came to contact with the dried blood of Stiles's abraded skin, but it didn't hurt. It had almost immediate anesthetic effect, no measures for relief of the prisoner.

Patiently the man cleansed his skin, ridding it of clotted blood, small pebbles adhering to cuts and fragments that could cause an infection. Francis finished it off with gauze,vprotecting and securing him with tape. All the material was in abundance by cabinets. Perhaps the owner was commonly hurt. Or worse, commonly hurting others.

The thought made Stiles shiver.

This caught Aberline's attention.

"Come with me. I'll prepare something for you to eat and it will give me a chance to explain your situation." He demanded in a tone that gave no room for replicas. "But before that I believe it would be appropriate to give me the cell in your pocket."

Stilinski pursed his lips but obeyed, seeing his shiny new smartphone being crushed without any difficulty by the strong hands of Aberline. His father would be mad at having to buy another one so soon. But he would worry about that later. For the moment it became clear that the strength werewolf was a hidden threat: do not challenge me.

The teen did not complain. At least he had managed to send a text to Derek before it was crushed. It filled him with hope. And only with this little hope, did he obediently follow Aberline hoping that if he postponed anything it would give Derek longer to find him.

To be continued...


End file.
